


Hope

by MsSirEy



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Earth-Prime (DCU), F/F, Hopeful Ending, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, This is just a series of gut punches, ignore my bad science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29125260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsSirEy/pseuds/MsSirEy
Summary: Lena awakens on Earth Prime and Lex has designed the perfect nightmare for her.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 28
Kudos: 242





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This was a series of little snapshots I wrote on tumblr and I am just compiling them all together here. I did leave them separated into their parts. As I stated in my tags, this is just a series of gut punches, so buckle up!

**Part 1**

Lena blinked and immediately knew something was wrong. Her surroundings were not what they had been just a moment earlier, that she felt certain of. She had been— It was—

Lena’s head spun as she sat on her couch, her mind trying to grasp the fleeting recollections of simultaneous calculations, the rising inevitability that she was watching the world be consumed in one unfathomable tide of cosmic power. Her fingers itched to type a continuation of her formulas, searching for any glimmer of salvation, even if only for the ship they had rushed people onto.

It didn’t make sense, made her nauseous to glance about her apartment—or nearly her apartment. The décor was subtly different, absent of both the slowly gathered personality that had eroded the immaculate state, and the harsh scaling she had done to remove all evidence, leaving barrenness to scar. No, this apartment looked like the extrapolation of years without...

Kara.

Kara, who conveniently hovered off-center of where Lena stared ahead, still sick from the spinning, disembodied panic and the adrenaline that was apparently unnecessary but she could not let go of.

“What do you _want_?”

The words were out before she had the chance to compose them, spat out with the bile that rose in her throat. Kara’s company—and worse, her grand speeches about how they could fix everything between them—was the last thing she wanted while she sorted out the perils she might face.

Kara’s head cocked, and at a closer glance, there was something uncanny about her. Perhaps it was the cordial smile that held neither familiarity or strained effort; or maybe it was the way her hand were held together in front of her, demure and attentive; or the dullness to her eyes that made her appear almost lifeless.

“I do not want, Ms. Luthor.”

It was Kara’s voice, but it rang hollow. Artificial. And the statement, so absolute and yet devoid of autonomy, made her heart drop into her churning stomach.

“Do you like my gift?”

Always one for the dramatic entrance, and with an eye for emotional torture, Lex just had to choose that moment—when Lena was reeling so wildly in the storm of circumstances—to announce himself.

“What did you do?”

That prideful note of a chuckle turned her stomach even more. “I saved the world.”

“Let’s not dance, Lex.” She settled back, poised as much as braced for the coming reveal, and asked again. “What did you do?”

“This Earth—Earth Prime—is a world anew. I couldn’t bring your _non nocere_ work with us, but I thought this would be a nice consolation.” His mouth twisted into a vile grin as her gestured towards Kara. “You can call her Hope,” he mused. “Such a fitting name for the once-Paragon.”

**Part 2**

The mockery of her intent with Hope paled against the wretched weight of Kara’s self—flawed and full of betrayal as it was—having been hollowed out of her, and the ugly sense that the blade that split her ribs was in Lena’s grip. Even if Lex held her hand and forced it to twist, it was still her work—her design—that stood before her, smiling with blissful unawareness of all that was missing. All that was stolen.

This was never what Lena had wanted.

No matter what Kara had done, she did not deserve this. Lena’s stomach felt like it was curdling as she stared, unable to tear her eyes away from the grotesque misuse of her creation.

“You can see yourself out.” Lena wanted to refuse to give Lex the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt, but there was no mask or tiny box that could contend with the immeasurable, yawning emptiness that opened up inside her, swallowing every bit of good she had ever attributed to herself.

Lex was content to leave her to the torture she would wrought upon herself. His work was done.

“You’ll be announcing me at my Medal of Freedom acceptance speech tonight,” he noted, as if in the spirit of generously reminding, “be sure to bring your dog.”

The sentiment added weight to the silence in the wake of his absence, and while Kara was there in body, Lena was alone with her mistakes, alone with the consequences, and she was afraid.

Her Hope, the model for this abomination, had built-in safe-guards. She had always been careful to insure there was a way, or multiple, to reverse her tampering, and once more allow Eve her freedom. Yet, she had every reason to believe this affliction was permanent, and something she would personally live with, and carry, for the rest of her life.

Lena sat, paralyzed in her spot on the couch, with the shell of Kara watching over her, smiling as if pleased with her work.

“You can leave, too,” Lena finally managed to find her voice, ignoring the way it showed the cracks that otherwise remained smoothed over with heavy-handed strokes.

“I cannot,” Kara chimed. “I must be here to assist you, Ms. Luthor.”

She knew that was part of the design, the perfect means of assuring she could not bury her head and hide from her sins. “Of course,” she sighed, a wry smile all she could muster, a better alternative to the urgent need to claw out of her skin, or worse, lash out at Kara, who she knew would accept it with a welcoming smile.

With a resigned exhale, Lena stood and motioned for Kara to approach, grimacing inwardly at the ready obedience. She didn’t know if she should touch Kara… if it was right to. It certainly didn’t feel right, even as her hand lifted and hovered just an inch from Kara’s cheek, just close enough to receive her warmth, but not daring to close the gap. Unwilling to cross that line, no matter how she ached. She hated herself for wanting Kara’s comfort in that moment, both for the raw sores that Kara had carved into her and for the fast-sinking sensation she had learned to identify as self-loathing. The rot in her chest was deserved, after all.

Her hand fell away.

“How much do you know about…” Lena could hardly bring herself to say it, the words ill-fitting in her mouth, catching in her throat, “about the status of your— …of Kara Danvers’ consciousness?”

“Kara Danvers is entirely suppressed, Ms. Luthor.”

Lena smiled, years of trained responses forcing her muscles to comply, terse as it was. “That I gathered for myself. Is she in there?”

“Yes, Ms. Luthor.”

“Can she be recovered?”

Kara blinked, her brow drawn together in some mimicry of consideration, before her expression resumed its cheerful composition. “I am not capable of answering that.”

Lena made no effort to suppress her snarl of frustration. “Are you capable of lying?”

“No, Ms. Luthor.”

In a better world, the heavy sigh would have carried some hint of relief, but the glimmer of hope was tainted by the knowledge that she was playing Lex’s game, and only a fool would not recognize bait.

**Part 3**

The dissonance between Lena’s memories and her new reality grew with each passing moment. The differences were subtle at first glance, but the more she looked, the more she recognized what was missing. Her phone had an absence of personal communications, and while she wasn’t surprised that Kara, and certainly Alex, were not among her contacts, when she sought her only unbroken tie, it wasn’t there.

“Kara?” A simple note acknowledged her, reminded her that she always had Kara’s attention. “Find me Sam Arias’ contact information in the LCorp database.”

Lena’s jaw clenched for a brief moment as she realized how easy it was to treat Kara as she had treated Hope, how easy it was to justify her usefulness.

Kara didn’t bat an eye. “Right away, Ms. Luthor.”

The incessant address was all it took to jar Lena from her internal chastising. She struggled enough to merge the once-tenuous formality she had with Supergirl with the tender familiarity she had developed with Kara, and hearing the echoes of the past grated on her. It was a small thing, within the scheme of everything else, but she needed every ounce of her focus dedicated to righting the world, and Kara was a distraction enough as it was.

“You can stop calling me ‘Ms. Luthor’,” she intoned, not bothering to spare a glance away from her screen.

“Very well,” Kara chirped, unerringly chipper. “Shall I call you ‘Lena’ instead?”

A nerve was struck—pinched somewhere in the hollow of Lena’s chest—and refused to release, stealing her breath with the sharp pang, and she wanted to curl inward to guard herself. She didn’t care for hearing her name on Kara’s lips, and less still when it wasn’t Kara speaking.

Lena cleared her throat, tried to force the pressure to shift enough to speak. “No.” The word came out clipped, the bite of it harsh on her tongue. She shook her head, chided herself for being so quick to turn her frustration outward. A reminder to be steady was on a constant loop in her head. “Don’t call me that,” she sighed. “Just— ‘Ms. Luthor’ is fine.”

“Of course, Ms. Luthor.” A moment later, Kara chimed once more. “There is no ‘Sam Arias’ in the Luthor Corp database.”

The picture came more into focus, the shattered remnants of her life merely a lens she stared through—trapped behind. Her fingers found the jagged edges her eyes could not, and soon her blood stained the scene. Lex stripped more and more from her, forced her to walk among her nightmares, molded her cage out of her fears.

In this world, Lena had never testified against her brother; never inherited LuthorCorp; never rebranded it as LCorp; never hired Sam; never formed a name for herself; never pulled the trigger.

Lena staggered, her breath knocked from her like a fist to the gut, her hand slipping along her smooth countertop as she tried to find purchase and brace. Everything was wrong. Every last detail was meant to hurt her. She almost envied Kara, erased from this existence.

Lena’s attention turned to a different escape, a comfortable companion in her darkest moments—the liquor cabinet, well stocked for just her needs. She hadn’t even taken a step when the air shifted around her and she blinked to help her mind catch up with the fact that Kara stood in her path.

“You must stay in good health, Ms. Luthor.” There was no malice, no anger, no judgment; just that unpleasantly persistent smile.

Lena sneered, cursing Lex’s continued interference. “I have nothing—no one—and I need a drink.” With each word she felt herself cracking, the truth too much to bear alone.

“You are not alone, Ms. Luthor. You have me.”

Lena laughed, because that was all she could do. And still she crumpled, wept under Kara’s watchful gaze.

**Part 4**

It was a miserable month, with Lena once more relegated to Lex’s shadow, save for when it suited him to have her in the spotlight, forced to support his charade as Earth Prime’s darling savior. His dutiful mouthpiece, paraded about when it would hurt the most. He was thorough in his creation of this hellscape, careful to sever every thread she might have pulled, made every avenue of escape a dead-end.

He wanted her to suffer, to squirm in his grip. He crafted her life to fit his sick fantasy of her madness overtaking her, of her ruin finally coming from her own hand, bled from her slowly.

On good days, she clung to the idea of breaking Kara free of her prison. It was tedious to pursue. Kara was her only resource that Lex didn’t directly control, and even then, she wasn’t confident he didn’t. She had Kara running simulations with any lead she could scrape up, lifted from the crumbs Lex gave her.

Lena hoped she would find fortune in his love to boast, especially if she made a show of trying to swallow her disgust. After all, he ate it up—savored the rawness of open gashes, prodded tender wounds until she flinched—and she endured it. Those were the days when only the searing heat of spite kept her together, crudely cauterized, anesthetized by the absence of anything to lose.

She still had no sense of what it meant for Kara to be a Paragon, or what the threat had been in the first place. Lex was the only one who knew the way events had actually transpired, while she was the only one who knew that it was a lie.

When she gleaned little for her efforts, Lena would retreat to her only sanctuary—no longer able to distinguish between an apartment and a prison—but ready to welcome any solitude.

She had learned early that Kara would prevent her from drowning herself in alcohol, and each night she pushed back anyway, until Kara stopped her. With her wrists restrained by unyielding hands and Kara’s soft gaze never faltering, it was the closest she got to being held in a warm embrace.

And then came that _oh so gentle_ reminder. “You need to take care of yourself, Ms. Luthor.”

She let her mind whisper in Kara’s voice. The world still needs you, at first—a simple thought that carried her—but soon it shifted. I still need you.

It was a thin tether, already stretched to its limits, but she clutched it to her chest with trembling hands. She refused to let her grip weaken.

“Ms. Luthor?” Lena blinked, her eyes turning up from where her hands were clasped in her lap. It was rare that Kara initiated any conversation, and never without reason. “There has been a highly irregular spike in q-wave activity. You had indicated interest.”

Lena’s mind whirled. “You can sense that?”

“No, but my protocols have been updated and I interpolated.”

There was a great welling of warmth in her chest, weight lifting from her lungs. Hope was on her side.

**Part 5**

In the early days alone with Kara, she had been so uneasy with the stillness. Kara had always been so loud in her gestures, so free with her expressions, and that had been what had drawn Lena into their friendship in the first place.

In this world she was muted, cold even when she mimicked the tender warmth of the person she had been. Lena could have stomached anger, disappointment, or even distaste. Instead, there was no hint of pain in her eyes, no twitch of effort to keep her smile in place, no hesitancy as she chose her words. There was just... nothing.

Lena grew desensitized to it with time, but that didn’t make it any less harrowing, subjected to it every hour of every day. The emptiness was contagious and it became harder not to justify withdrawing inward, to give less of herself to the world, to be quiet. And that inclination was not helped by the growing awareness that she was in the company of danger.

Lena had suspected that Kara put effort into appearing clumsy, had trained mannerisms that afforded the appearance of being human—more palatable to the prey animal buried by centuries of being at the apex in the hierarchy of the world, the instincts that recognized a potential predator. But it wasn’t Kara she spent her days with. This shell of Kara did not care that she was too perfect, did not pity Lena’s existence and did nothing to shield her.

It wasn’t until Kara took the initiative to inform her about the q-waves that Lena got any hint of where they stood—whether Kara was truly just another part of her cage. She was so ready to leap at that first inkling, but she knew better than to blindly trust her need for hope—how easily desperation could cloud her judgment.

And Lena saw no evidence that anything had changed until it came knocking at her door.

“Ms. Luthor?” Lena’s heart started at the sudden chime of Kara’s voice, just as anticipation was finally bleeding out of tense muscles. “You have a visitor.”

The announcement preceded the whispered click of the handle of her front door being turned and her gaze followed Kara’s, just in time to see Alex enter, her sidearm drawn and leveled.

Lena was not given the chance to react. The scene before her changed in the span of a single heartbeat. Kara had her hand around Alex’s throat, the sidearm disposed of.

“Kara!” Lena cried out, alarmed by the show of force. “What are you—”

“Alexandra Danvers is classified as a category 5 threat and must be eliminated,” Kara intoned simply, her stony expression unchanged.

“No, no, no, no!” Lena rushed to follow. “Kara! Kara, you know she’s not—”

Lena could see the strain in Kara’s hand, the jump of taut tendons and the slither of receding veins above them, gravity draining them as Alex was lifted off the ground, legs fumbling fruitlessly. There was no telling if the tension came from restraint or intent to kill, but the sputtering gasp and clumsy desperation in Alex’s hands as they latched onto Kara’s wrist and forearm made Lena ready to retch.

“Kara! Stop, please, override that!”

Her plea fell on deaf ears as fire ignited in the hollow of Kara’s lifeless eyes, blooming outward to cast sharp shadows across her visage. Panic welled in Lena’s gut. Ice crept up into her lungs, and then her throat, while the quiet of her mind broke into shrill ringing.

Lena ducked beneath Kara’s arm, put herself in the line of her gaze, stared directly into the all-consuming inferno. “Please,” she begged, even as the words threatened to catch in her too-tight throat. “Kara, please… please don’t let her blood be on my hands.”

She didn’t dare look behind her—knowing she would lose her nerve if she saw the purple in Alex’s face. The strangled gurgle of her exhaling, knowing she would not draw another breath if Kara’s grip didn’t loosen, was sickening enough.

Instead Lena threw her weight behind her hands, shoved against Kara’s chest, useless and frantic, fingers clawing for purchase in the fabric. “Kara, that’s Alex!” There was a hiss of moisture evaporating out of the air, tears superheating before they could gather enough to fall. “Kara, please!”

Lena’s hands cupped Kara’s cheeks, tried to guide her gaze downward. “I know you’re in there,” she wept, “please come back to me—to us!”

Alex’s body dropped, crumpled to the floor behind her, and for a deafening beat, Lena was certain all was lost. But then the wet shuddering gulp, followed by a hacking cough filled her with more relief than she had ever known.

“She is not a threat if she is not present,” was all Kara said as her eyes dimmed.

**Part 6**

Ushering Alex out with little more than an exchange of stiff nods and the understanding that their hands were tied—Kara’s weighty gaze leaving little other option—was the start of a shift in the landscape. Lena had drawn an ace that was never meant to be dealt to her and it unsettled Lex.

It showed first in Kara, manifested in little twitches, which Lena soon associated with Kara denying her own impulses—the ones provided by Lex’s input. On occasion, Kara would begin to repeat “Alex is not present and not a threat”, as if saying so relieved the need for her to respond to her programming, while returning to the singular line of coding she had written for herself.

Lena was certain it wouldn’t hold up, but she didn’t need it to. All she needed was to make Lex sweat enough to let his impatience and ego get the better of him. She encouraged new lines of thought, fed Kara new loopholes, ones Lex patched just as quickly as they were planted. They both knew that if any took root, his foothold would eventually erode, and he would lose some of the leverage that kept her from taking more bold action.

Lena had hoped to create a window to meet with Alex, the only ally she was aware had any sense that the world wasn’t right, to learn what had awakened her, but ultimately that was a pipedream. Lex was quick to give up their tug of war, eager to put her back in her place.

She was summoned—unable to refuse—to a basement lab she recognized with a twisting in her gut. It housed a cell of her own design, designed to contain Sam as she fought against Reign for control of her own mind, the parallels more distasteful than Lena cared for.

Lex did not boast his typical air of smugness. He was reduced to a boy, too spoiled to recognize his own entitlement, thrown into a fit of fury when denied his favorite toy. The difference was he could lash out without consequence and Lena would bear the brunt of his outrage.

“You think you’re cute,” he mocked her with the question, his voice overfilling the room, happy to make Lena shrink just so there was air enough to breathe. He snapped his finger and pointed to the floor before himself, demanding Lena heel, taking every opportunity to get under her skin. Kara’s weight shifted, an inch gained in the ground between them, and Lena wasn’t the only one to take notice. “Sit, dog,” he sneered.

Lena walked forward to avoid seeing Kara’s knee bend to him, subjected herself instead to his ire. The back of his hand sent white pain through her cheek to flare in one eye before settling into a dull throbbing as her neck pulled sharply. It took a moment to clear her vision and right her posture, but she didn’t otherwise flinch. “Dear sister, you clearly haven’t learned that misbehaving has consequences.”

Lena had been his outlet in the past, and while the scars were etched into more than her skin, she was hardened to his outright violence. He was always more effective when composed, his insidious tongue doing more to cut her down.

Lex exhaled a heaving sigh, smoothed his suit out, and fixed her with a vile smirk. “Tell me, Lena, what would happen if Hope was deactivated?”

Lena’s jaw tensed, inviting a roiling wave of nausea to wash through her. She knew exactly what Lex wanted to hear and had no reason to skirt around it. “Hope operates largely in the empathy center of the brain and with deactivation, Kara would become a being of pure instinct.”

Lex’s smirk twisted wider. “Close. She would become a _predator_ of pure instinct, and you the prey that played at being her master.” He activated a monitor that displayed a large countdown timer, affording only ten minutes. “This room cannot contain her, but it will contain you,” he promised, before taking his leave as the numbers began to run down.

Nothing needed to be spelled out further. Lena could still command Kara while Hope was active. Lex forced her to make the choice between Kara and the risk she posed. Ten minutes wasn’t nearly enough time, not for the downward spiraling hopes she had.

Lena hadn’t moved from her spot, stared blankly ahead as her mind scrambled for any alternative, but all she could imagine was a beastial, hurt Kara throwing herself against the walls of her prison, feral and seething. Lena found herself debating the merits of setting Kara loose on the world.

“I am a threat.” Lena turned in time to see Kara rise from the floor. “I am a threat,” she repeated as she strode with jerky steps to the open cell door. “I am a threat. I am a threat. I am a threat.”

Lena’s voice died in her throat, coming out as only a hoarse whisper of breath, her ribs ready to crack as the gravity in her heart tugged inward. She staggered as she trailed behind, but Kara barred her from entering the cell, hands holding her wrists one last time. She regarded Lena with the same hollow smile. “You must think of your health, Ms. Luthor.”

**Part 7**

The seconds passed with excruciating similarity to holding her breath, and Lena was acutely aware that the moment she let go, she would drown. But instead of water, the crushing weight around her was the culmination of every mistake—every regret she had buried or denied. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

Kara kept better time than her—the numbers distorted by her teary vision—and gently relaxed her grip, released Lena with enough time to reach the panel that controlled the door to the cell.

A hydraulic hiss accompanied the door sliding shut between them and the barrier that kept Lena from resolution became literal. It felt like the one time she would have made the risky choice—would have chosen vulnerability—but the chance was stolen from her.

Lena pressed her hand to the kinetic-stabilization field that made up the walls of the cell, the charged surface crackling lightly, raising the hairs beneath the sleeve of her suit. Kara’s head cocked, considered the gesture for a beat, and then her hand lifted to mimic Lena’s, just as the clock hit zero.

Right on cue, Kara’s face twisted and she screamed, her neck straining to contain the sound. Her knees crashed to the floor a moment later, striking so sharply that the impact resounded through Lena.

The wail of agony pitched higher, making Lena’s teeth ache while she squinted and her shoulders lifted to guard her neck, not quite able to protect her ears. The echoes lingered in her bones long after Kara’s breath trailed into a pitiful sob, her chest hitching.

Kara curled forward as if to retch, but then her head whipped up, her eyes darting to every corner of the cell, scanning frantically for an escape. She propelled herself forward, threw her shoulder into the fortified wall with a dull groan of pain, only to hurl herself in a new direction.

Lena tried to follow, to keep close to the startled form that scrabbled at the walls. When she was fruitless in her search, Kara circled wildly, but it wasn't until her clawing turned inward, her skin bearing marks, that Lena found her voice.

“Kara! Kara, stop!”

The storm of movement ceased so abruptly that the air still churned, Kara’s hair caught in the currents for a moment longer before it too settled into stillness. She turned with the same twitches of resistance Lena had learned to recognize and faced her properly.

The gaze that met Lena’s was wide and frozen, shivering even in the effort to be motionless. A smile was forced and Lena’s warmth was drawn away by the pit of icy terror that formed in her stomach.

“Yes, Ms. Luthor.”

The words were forced up from tight lungs, so small, barely able to reach Lena, helped only by the uneasy quiet that lay between them. That silence reached her thoughts, erased everything in one concussive blow, until everything snapped sharply back into focus. It didn’t make sense. If Hope was still active, then…

“Kara?”

Released from her command, Kara stumbled backwards, tripped in her effort to put more distance between them, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. She scrambled until her back was secure in the far corner and she huddled around herself—hiding her face, but not the way her frame quaked.

**Part 8**

Lena had never struggled so greatly to differentiate reality from a dream, but the unbridled fear in Kara’s eyes as she shrunk away was far too reminiscent of her nightmares—the ones where her doubts ran rampant and cast her self-image in the most hideous light. It had taken years to shake the sense that she would finally live up to her name and Kara would see through her, would get one glimpse of her true nature and judge her to be unworthy.

The end of their friendship had come with one blessing—it would never be her that chased Kara away. She was never supposed to live this moment. She was supposed to have been spared.

In her dreams she was helpless—her throat screamed raw, her voice never enough to bring Kara back—but however twisted this world was, she was not broken. Not yet. She would not allow her feet to become rooted to the floor. She would not give up.

Not on Kara.

Without taking her eyes off Kara’s hunched form, Lena skirted the cell and returned to the control panel. She pressed the command to open the door, and then again when it was unresponsive.

“Oh, Lena,” Lex’s voice was grainy as it came in through a speaker, but there was no mistaking the smug condescension, “you should have been grateful for my gift.” Realization dawned with a red glare, Lena’s mind hot with fury as she understood what Lex had engineered—how she had been set up as Kara’s waking nightmare. “Next time I see you, I expect you to thank me properly.”

“Go fuck yourself.” There was no room for pleasantries, no pretense she cared to maintain. “I am going to kill you,” she promised, and there was no part of her that would hesitate if given the chance.

If he had a retort, she didn’t hear it. She was done playing his game.

Lena approached the corner where Kara was, careful to show her hands, and knelt. “Kara?” She shuffled a little closer. Her mind kept offering ill-phrased pleas—look at me; listen; trust me—but she would not make that mistake again. “Hey, it’s me,” she tried, keeping her voice soft, even as every nerve burned with rage she could not yet temper.

“I know,” Kara croaked. “L—” her face contorted, puzzled as her mouth tried to work around an incomplete syllable, confusion and frustration stumbling through a partnered dance. “I— I can’t say your name…”

Lena’s eyes closed as she exhaled. Her blood was at the cusp of boiling and she did not want to tip the scales. “You can call me Lena,” she allowed, returning that freedom to Kara, wishing she could do more.

Kara lifted her head out of the shelter of her arms and finally looked at Lena, her eyes barely open, every muscle in her face twitching with a near-constant twinge of pain. “Lena, it— it hurts,” she managed.

Lena swallowed down her bile, and nodded. “I know, I'm sorry,” she breathed. Hope was never supposed to be active with a conscious host. “I’ll figure out a way to—”

Before she could fully form the promise, it occurred to her that Kara being conscious was to their advantage. The technology required a stable environment to function, which was easy to maintain with a suppressed host. They could make Kara inhospitable to Hope.

“Kara, we need to talk,” Lena realized, but even as she knew the consequences of hesitation, she wasn’t fully prepared for the solution, “...about us.”

**Part 9**

On some level, the point was to rile Kara, to evoke heightened emotional responses and overwhelm the system that occupied her, but Lena’s heart couldn’t commit to that. After a month of having the constant reminder of what Kara had meant to her, of what was truly missing in her life, all her heart wanted was to finally meet Kara openly, and lay herself bare.

Kara—perhaps with Hope’s assistance—seemed to understand their goal. Her hands pressed to the floor and, with her teeth gritted, slowly turned her body to better face Lena, her breath coming in ragged pants. She was still shaking, and occasionally her eyes would roll up before she could squeeze them shut, as her body locked taut. She was resisting an endless barrage of input and Lena suspected they didn’t have much time before it took a toll they couldn’t repay, and perhaps the only reason they had time at all was because Kara was kryptonian.

“Lena,” she groaned, her voice pinched, “I’m so sorry. I never meant to—”

“Kara, please…” Lena shook her head, her lip quivering, “I can’t tell you to do anything, but will you allow me to… to explain?”

Kara made an effort to keep her eyes open, to look directly at Lena when she nodded, even as she paled.

Lena would never admit to how often she practiced words that would cut Kara clean open, how ready she was to spill blood with teeth and tongue, how easy that could have been. What didn’t come so freely was showing the true depths of her wounds, how her own flesh was mangled and bruised. It seemed foolish to expose her weaknesses to someone who had already exploited them.

“I’m not upset that you have a secret,” she whispered, thankful that her voice didn’t need to be more than that to reach Kara. “Everyone has their own, and I understand the risks and the gravity of yours,” she promised, “I do.”

Lena took a slow breath into shuddering lungs, filled her slowly caving chest. “But Kara, you made the choice to get close to me. You led me to believe that our trust was full and mutual, and I,” her heart threatened to beat so loudly that it might drown out her voice, “I ate it up... because I— I wanted that.”

Lena looked down at her lap, her clammy fingers twining over her bent knees. “I made it very clear that I don’t trust easily, that I have been betrayed.” It took all her will to lift her head, to face Kara without her favored masks, to be only herself. “You knew that and made your choice anyway.”

Kara’s head was shaking, a constant twitchy swivel. Her eyes—so full of life for the first time since Lena had woken in that world—swirled with anguish that Lena might have savored once, if only to have relief from her own hollowness.

“You had people who knew your secret— you could have...” she choked out with a sob, “you didn’t need me, Kara.”

Kara’s hand lifted to press to the field between them. “Lena, I—” Before she could say anything, her head shot back sharply, crashing violently into the corner of the cell, her body twisting and writhing. “New threat protocols are being put in place,” she cried, her body arching more and more, legs fumbling for purchase. “Lena, I— I don’t want to be a weapon,” she wept.

The plummeting of her heart almost broke Lena. She watched with icy horror in her veins for just a moment, lost for how to comfort.

But then she recognized the terror for what it was. Lex was taking more aggressive action. “It’s working,” Lena breathed.

“Command me to listen,” Kara begged as she continued to scrabble deeper into the corner, contorted by the frantic efforts of her body. “Do it! Please, I want to hear it... I need to know.”

It felt wrong, but with Kara’s permission, Lena acquiesced. “Listen to me, Kara.”

Kara’s head whipped forward and her forehead crashed into the field with a sickening crack, only for her to stare firmly at Lena. “ _Please_ ,” she repeated, her nod small but meaningful, every muscle straining to keep herself fixed in that position.

Lena had never hated her creation as much as in that moment, but Kara’s trust kept her grounded. “Kara... you hurt me, maybe more than anyone else,” she admitted.

“I… I think I loved you and you… weren’t even _you_.”

**Part 10**

Kara went still.

Her face melted into a smooth, blank stare, and the sight of it invited icy tendrils to grip Lena’s exposed heart, squeezing until all she could do was gasp pitifully. Lena slammed the flat of her hand against the field that kept them apart, crackles dispersing around her skin, but Kara didn’t so much as blink.

It had taken every bit of her courage to put words to the tightness in her chest, to name the heaviness that beat against her ribs, to acknowledge the way gravity had turned against reason and her orbit circled one person. She had never let herself consider it, shrank away from it, welcomed darker thoughts in its place. Love was a fool’s game, after all, and Lena had long refused to play.

In the end, she was a fool and the universe proved its point in its ruthless fashion, her admission met with utter silence, not even a whisper to ease her doubts. Mercy was never meant for her.

Kara was lost—fallen out of reach—and Lena was ready to follow her, to sink beneath the tide of panic and be forgotten by the world. There was no telling what might surface, but she preferred not to see it.

The first break in the stillness was the soft flutter of Kara’s eyelashes and the well of tears that fell down marred cheeks, salted already weeping wounds. “No, no, no, no, Lena,” she whispered, syllables wet and slurred together. Her face cracked, her brow heavy with her devastation, her eyes stormy.

“Kara?” Lena didn’t dare hope, couldn’t survive being wrong, but her heart wished so deeply for it to be _Kara_ —safe and whole.

Kara blinked, jarred from her sputtering, and her head cocked, her gaze distant, looking inward. “Yes,” she breathed, with a startled little laugh. “It’s me! Just me!”

Lena exhaled all the weight she harbored, sank back to sit fully on the floor, numb overtaking her limbs, closing in on the rest of her. “Fuck,” she panted and her body gave out as tension bled away, leaving her a boneless mess. She laid back, covered her face with her shaking hands, and willed her heart to steady.

There was relief, unquestionably, but there was also the sense that she had to answer for the hand she had in the course of events and she was tapped dry of courage. When she could feel her face again, she turned onto her side and lifted onto still trembling hands. She crawled until she felt her legs could support her and then set herself to task.

Kara called after her, her voice warbling and frantic. “Lena, where are you—”

“If Lex thinks I can’t break into a cell I designed, he only has his ego to blame,” she huffed, putting her hands to work rather than facing the continuation of their conversation. She didn’t aim for finesse as she pried the control panel open with ill-suited tools and in a matter of minutes, the door slid open.

Kara had gotten to her feet, and once freed, sidled out with her head hung and her gaze flitting between Lena’s face and the floor at her feet. “Lena, I, um… will you let me say something?”

Lena couldn’t summon the walls of her fortress fast enough, couldn’t contain her spilling heart, but for the first time, that wasn’t as terrifying as the thought of never trying to meet Kara. She nodded.

“I am sorry, Lena,” Kara said as she fidgeted, her hands each seeming to work to keep the other from reaching out. “I worried endlessly about what might happen if I told you—”

“For four years?” Lena was reluctant to press, afraid of what she would find when she opened that vein. Her lips were ready to drink from any cup offered—cracked and broken as they were—but she knew poison when it was fed to her.

Kara gave a pained nod. “I hold onto things too tightly— I always have.” She tried to force a smile, but it never quite stuck. “After everything I’ve lost, I…”

Lena’s stomach twisted, trapped in a vice with jagged teeth that rent her open, let the acid wash into her gut and devour her from within. “Kara, that’s not fair.” How was she supposed to justify her hurt when set against the backdrop of Kara’s loss?

Kara was floundering, lost and trembling. “No, I know, hang on— just, um, let me finish?”

Lena could only offer a stiff dip of her head. She watched Kara’s head lift, her eyes turned up towards the ceiling, her lips moving in a silent whisper—a prayer. When her gaze returned, she was steeled.

“I felt helpless… hopeless, that’s true, but instead of trusting what we had, I let my fears back me into every wrong choice.” All Lena heard was that Kara didn’t trust her and it punched straight into the hollow pit at her core—gave credence to the haunting whispers she argued so fervently against when alone with her thoughts. “I just… I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

It didn’t make sense and her mind screeched its alarm, telling her to run. “I was always there for you,” Lena reminded, her voice cracking under the strain of her withering composer, her knees degrading with the rest of her, ready to give out.

Kara chewed at her lip, but forced her chin to stay lifted, refusing to bend under her guilt. “You were,” she managed. “You’ve always made me feel so _whole_ and I—” her eyes closed as tears streamed down her cheeks, “I didn’t let myself think about how little of me was present for you.” She exhaled shakily before she looked at Lena properly once more. “You deserved better from me, Lena.”

Lena’s doubts feasted, spun every word into another lie, mocked her with the awareness that there was no way to truly know if she was being spoon fed exactly what she wanted to hear. She needed something tangible to hold onto, and without thinking, found herself walking forward. Kara let her approach, watched with wide eyes, her uncertainty stiffening her back.

Lena stepped into Kara’s space and hesitantly reached out. Kara’s hands untangled and fell away from each other, affording Lena more room, and she took it. As soon as her arms encircled Kara, she sank forward, no longer able to deny needing to be held.

“I’m so sorry, Lena,” Kara whispered into her hair as she wrapped Lena up in the shelter of her embrace, cautious at first, but then shifting to pull Lena closer, taking the weight from her with sturdy hands.

Kara’s support allowed her to let go of her boxes, to let the seams of her wretched masks unravel, to fall apart and trust that she wouldn’t be alone to put herself back together. She buried her face in Kara’s neck and wept. Lena clutched tight to the fabric at her fingertips, secured the source of warmth that cushioned her fall. Kara made no mention of the tears that dampened her shirt, only soothed a hand along her back.

With the floodgates opened, her doubts spilled outward. “What did I do to—”

Kara shook her head and squeezed Lena tighter. “You didn’t do anything, Lena, I promise.”

“Then what were you afraid of?”

Kara’s chest expanded in her arms and Lena could feel the heaviness of her heart, the quickened thud against her cheek. “I was scared of letting you down.”

That struck a chord in Lena, plucked at the very strings that appeared in every arrangement she wrote. It was the undercurrent that steered her towards grand gestures and worse decisions, and why she tried so desperately to earn affection. She never felt worthy unless she compensated for every debt, and every misstep, and sometimes it was never enough.

For Kara it had been, or so she had been led to believe. She had bought into it blindly, unaware she was staking her heart until it was too late.

“Kara Danvers is not all of who I am, but she was who I wanted to be.” She tucked her head closer, as if to ensure that her words reached Lena’s ear. “She was important to you and I… I didn’t know how to give that up.”

Lena still couldn’t understand why she was singled out and it tightened her throat until she couldn’t swallow the reasoning.

Kara was important to everyone. She forged light out of her own darkness; she strived not only to be good, but to see good when others might turn away; she understood the power of kindness and empathy; she encouraged strength by way of example; she embodied hope, not in grandness, but in nuance. No one in her life would say different.

“Why me?”

Kara pulled back so abruptly that the air seemed to go with her and Lena’s lungs struggled to fill, but then warm, tender hands cupped her cheeks, and she melted into them. “Lena,” she breathed, her resolve beared down upon Lena with such intensity, her gaze unwavering, “it’s because I love you.”

That was one possibility Lena had never considered and it ripped up every logical foundation her doubts relied on. Her mind went quiet, slowly calibrating to the new way of framing events, wondering how the two of them could have been such fools.

“I’m sorry I let you think otherwise,” Kara said, her hands quivering, her courage wavering. “You are so, so important to me, Lena, and you always will be.”

Lena’s hands lifted to Kara’s wrists, fingers curled around them, wishing she could keep them there. “You promise?”

Kara nodded, relief mixing with eagerness in her eyes. “Yes! Yes, whatever the future brings, whatever we have to face out there,” her gaze flicked to the lab door before returning to Lena, “I’ll be here for you.”

Lena’s breath hitched, her lungs over-full, a spark of warmth igniting in her heart. Her shoulders were less burdened, or her spine sturdier, it was hard to be certain. Her tears didn’t sting the same, instead seemed like a welcome cleansing. Her smile didn’t need to be forced.

Perhaps that’s what hope felt like.

Lena didn’t mind it.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr: @mssirey


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